


The Luck of the Draw

by projectml



Series: Project: Bastille Day 2016 [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, project bastille day 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7495647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectml/pseuds/projectml
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second Bastille AU for Project: Bastille Day 2016.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was a heavy uneasiness weaving through the streets of Paris. It wasn’t caused by the summer heat or the chatter of the markets. Rather, it was the whispers and unrest between the people in light of a new discovery--soldiers were gathering in the city and nobody knew why. They could guess, of course. Revolution was a topic on everyone’s mind. It was hard to escape it, which was why Marinette and Alya were taking it head on. They had a plan, but it certainly took a toll as they walked down the street, wilting from the July heat.   
  
“Lord, the summer sun truly has no mercy,” Alya sighed, fanning herself with her free hand. The two walked arm in arm, avoiding carriages and crates as they strolled. It was late afternoon, and the sun had yet to release the city from its heatwave.   
  
“At least you color rather than burn,” Marinette chuckled, sweeping the strands too short for her updo off of her neck.   
  
“True, mademoiselle freckle and blush.” Alya laughed and bumped her hip into Marinette's, which almost sent them sprawling when Marinette tripped over her skirt. They giggled and swung over closer to the residences as they headed down a side street.   
  
"So what gossip do you think we will discover today?" Marinette mused. "The soldiers are new. I wonder if much word has spread about them."   
  
They veered to the right, their destination only a few houses down. Alya hummed in response, idly patting her arm. "If anyone will know anything it's her. We'll find out soon enough."   
  
Stepping up together, they paused on the stoop of Madame Chamack's house to knock. A maid answered moments later, and welcomed them into the house with familiarity. They were a frequent visitor of the madame, could practically lead themselves to the parlour, but the ladies let the maid lead.

“Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng and Mademoiselle Cesaire have arrived, madame.”

Nadine Chamack, skin freshly powdered and hair elegantly curled in a stylish updo, had on a deep blue frock that day, and Marinette itched with questions on who had done the embroidery. She refrained from her curiosity in order to focus on their true goal in their visit.

“Ladies,” Madame Chamack said cheerfully, “I have so much gossip to share you will be positively glued to your seats. Sit down, please.”

They thanked the maid and took their seats, reaching for their beverages out of pure habit. The room lifted their teacups to take a sip as they watched the maid leave. Privacy was key in their exchange, and Madame Chamack motioned for Marinette to lock the door.

“This old house and its stuck doors,” the madame joked. “So indulge me first, ladies. How has the publication been?”

Marinette and Alya exchanged matching grins, eager to freely share their secret lives. Around eight months ago they had realized the talent they had at inspiring the people of France through writing and art. Alya could write a rousing pamphlet filled with sharp analysis and witty retorts, and Marinette’s comics were hilariously charming and dead-on in their satire. The two became a fearsome publishing duo that fought for revolution, and they invented fake names for themselves to hide from the king. Marinette had chosen Ladybug after a childhood nickname--it had been given to her by a loyal customer of the bakery so long ago she could not remember the day it was created. All she remembered was the lady’s golden hair and warm hugs as she called Marinette her good luck charm. Alya, the better scholar of the two, had once read of a goddess of creation and was fascinated by the story. She could not remember the exact name of the goddess, and came up with what she could: Tikki. And thus the revolutionary duo took flight after they dressed as young men and gave all of their savings to a publisher willing to print their pamphlets,  _ Common Justice _ .

They had even earned a benefactor, a mysterious person called Chat Noir, after their first publication. His messenger would deliver the man a note with their intended amount of prints and then send back a letter with money. Every pamphlet since had been paid for from that person’s wallet. But lately things had been quieter in the country, and they were lacking content to publish. Thus, a visit to the local gossip--a spy who knew all--was due.

“It has been truly satisfying,” Alya shared. “We have received hundreds of positive responses in the last month alone.  _ Common Justice _ is a constant topic in the coffee shops.”

Marinette hummed in agreement, taking a sip of her tea. “It has been slow in news for the past week. We are lacking inspiration and hoping you have some information of interest to the public.”

“Well, you two certainly do have luck in timing.” The madame grinned over the rim of her cup, but did not seem overly excited to share.

“Oh?” Alya asked as the duo exchanged worried glances. “What have you heard?”

Madame Chamack set her teacup down softly and sighed. “Jacques Necker was dismissed yesterday.”   
  
Alya choked on her tea while Marinette blanched.    
  
“Surely you’re joking,” Marinette finally managed to voice. “He was scheduled to appeal to the court for more Third Estate delegates to represent the common class…”   
  
“Which means speaking for the people cost him his job,” Alya finished. “The king has gone too far.”   
  
Her words settled over the room like a fog, forcing them to still, until Madame Chamack finally stood up to fetch the tea kettle. She refilled their cups as she spoke. “The news has already spread, but it has yet to reach the whole city. I wouldn’t be surprised if this serves as the final call to action.”

Marinette pinched the fabric of her skirt between her fingers, rubbing it as she thought. The image of King Louis XVI, head dramatically enlarged with false privilege and greed, threatening a justified, common man sketched itself in her mind. “Which means we should publish a response as soon as possible.”   
  
Alya hummed in agreement. Her face was tilted towards the window, staring out at the people walking the streets. “Our readers would expect no less from Ladybug and Tikki.”   
  
“The young never take a break do they?” The woman smiled at them as she settled back into her chair, drawing her arm across her eyes. “Just looking at you two exhausts me.”

“Youth can only be enjoyed once, madame. We should take advantage while we can,” Marinette joked.

“But time is precious, and I believe we should start discussing our next edition as soon as possible,” Alya said before she downed her tea in one gulp. “I apologize for our brief visit, but duty calls.”

“I understand completely.” Madame Chamack rose with them and walked over to the door, unlocking it and peering out. She then stood aside to let them through. “I wish you luck in all of your endeavours, ladies. Please don’t hesitate to call again if you need help.”

Marinette grasped her hand before moving away, and inclined her head. “We’re in your debt, Madame Chamack. Thank you for everything.”

The woman waved them off with a smile as Alya quickly pecked her on the cheek. They hurried from the residence, and walked out into the street at a brisk pace.

“We’ll stop by my home for the food and then use our picnic for planning,” Marinette plotted. “Changing our plans suddenly could be suspicious.”

“Agreed.”

Soon enough they were crashing through the back door of the Dupain-Cheng home into an abandoned kitchen that was sometimes used for the larger commissions for their tailor shop. Baking did not hold much value in their current economy, so the family had been forced to switch shop. A basket sat on the table ready for them, but Marinette’s parents must have been upstairs beginning their own dinner.

“Mama! Papa!” Marinette yelled. “We’re early and leaving for the park now.”

Her mother’s voice drifted down, still calm and pleasant even as a shout. “Enjoy yourself, girls. Find some shelter from the sun.”

Marinette yelled up a quick goodbye as Alya grabbed the basket and hustled them out the door. The park was a block away, and it was early enough in the evening that only a small amount of people were lounging around, which was perfect for the two. They needed a lot of time to scheme their response to this new development.

“Lord, how I have missed your father’s bread,” Alya breathed, and she pushed aside the cheese in favor of the loaf. 

“Happy to help,” Marinette giggled. “Now to help me--what horrid animal should I compare the king to this time?”

Alya nodded enthusiastically, but struggled to speak around the hunk of bread she had devoured. “Excellent question.” She took a few seconds to chew more. “And I believe a devious spider would be especially grotesque.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose at the image forming in her head, almost dreading the details it would need. “Grotesque indeed.”

That sent Alya off into a tangent about how a spider had assaulted her just last week, and Marinette nodded while letting her mind wander. Alya apparently did not remember she had already told her the story. So she took a moment to survey the park, one of her favorite spots in all of Paris. It was especially colorful this time of year as the blooms had yet to wilt and dry in the summer sun. When was the last time Marinette had sat in the park and admired the flowers? Being a high risk revolutionary was enjoyable and exciting, but sometimes Marinette wondered what her life would have been if they lived in peaceful times.

Maybe if revolution and war weren’t taking over the economy, there would be more room for art; for bold, new fashion and inspired paintings. Perhaps they had missed the emergence of a great artist in favor of a raising a soldier. Marinette liked to think sometimes that could be her in another life. Her comics required some talent and artistic style, but it was not her true passion in the arts. The common did not require the grand fashion she dreamed of creating.

Instead her life was one of justice and paranoia. Marinette knew it was for the right cause, and it did inspire passion in her work, but sometimes she grew tired of it all. And she feared she was the only one who felt that way. She tuned back in to Alya who had already moved on from spiders to muttering about her column ideas.

“We, the people,” she murmered, picking apart her bread, “have been robbed of the rights one brave man would have fought to grant. Jacques Necker stood in our place before King Louis XVI…”

“Hey, Alya?” Marinette interjected.

Alya popped some food into her mouth and cocked her head, still staring down at the grass. “Hm?”

“Have you ever wondered...well, wondered if we--” Marinette cut off as a shout echoed around the area, and the girls jumped in response. They both looked towards the source, a man running into the park who seemed vaguely familiar.

The girls saw Nino, the mysterious messenger of Chat Noir, about once a month. They suspected he spied on the house because he only knocked when Alya and Marinette were both planning in the back room of the Dupain-Cheng residence. The exchange was always the same. Nino would greet them, hand the letter to Alya with a flourish, smile at Marinette, and leave with a, “See you ladies next month.”   
  
To witness him running towards them, no package in hand, was certainly a strange sight. The large man beside him who looked almost scarily grim did nothing to help her nerves. They came to a rather abrupt, frighteningly close halt next to their blanket, and Nino doubled over immediately.   
  
“Mademoiselle Cesaire… Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng… you need to come with me,” he gasped, one hand patting his chest as he coughed. His companion, stoic and glaring, looked between the two girls.   
  
“Bonjour, Ladybug. Tikki.”    
  
There was no escaping or doubting that they had misheard him as he looked them each in the eye after acknowledging their respective pseudonyms. Marinette gripped her skirts in alarm, her arms suddenly chilled and dotted with goosebumps. Where could they run? Could they even outrun the two men? Her eyes shifted over at the threat of movement as Alya slowly reached for their basket. A diversion--perfect.    
  
“Ivan, could you be a little less intimidating?” Long, dark fingers closed over Alya’s on the basket handle. “Please, let us explain. We’re here to help.”   
  
“Help?” Alya hissed, tugging her hand free. “How does revealing our identities help us in any form?”   
  
“Because I’m not the only one who will know soon. Your publisher ratted you out for money,” Ivan remarked. “Warrants for your arrest will be spread by the end of the afternoon.”   
  
He said it so calmly, as if this wasn’t their worst nightmare coming to life. Anything other than those words coming from some stranger's mouth would be better. Marinette would have even taken an announcement of the king appointing a jester as his successor. Words that didn’t involve her or her double life were all she wanted right now because without a doubt this meant death for the both of them. It had always been a risk, but it was always so far away from their reach. Now fate was advancing and all Marinette had to defend herself with was a croissant.   
  
Marinette blindly searched for Alya's hand as she stared at the blanket. They found each other, and Alya held tight.   
  
"We… family in the country. They could hide us until we figure something out…" Alya mumbled.   
  
Dark trousers filled the corner of her vision, and she looked up to see Nino kneeling, his smile saddened by his brows. "We have a safe house ready for each of you if you are willing."   
  
"Each?" Marinette said, managing to catch that even through her shock. "Not both?"   
  
"It's safer if we split you up," Ivan said, his stance looking stiffer as he surveyed the area. "If one of you gets found we can only hope the other gets away."   
  
As much as she hated it, it made sense. Hiding one girl was easier than hiding two, and one mistake would bring only half of the duo down. Marinette may have been known for her luck, but for once she wished it on Alya. France could survive with one less artist--but Alya's passion and prose could never be recreated.   
  
"No."    
  
Marinette jerked to the side as Alya yanked her hand, bringing her into her embrace. With nowhere to go, Marinette rested her head on Alya’s shoulder.   
  
"We need to stay together," Alya demanded. "What if a soldier catches Marinette? Who will be there to defend her? We cannot depend on some strangers who--"   
  
"Pardon, mademoiselle," Nino interrupted, "but you do know the man who arranged your safe houses."   
  
"We… do?" Alya and Marinette exchanged confused glances. What man knew of their work other than their bastard publisher? ...A man who they paid through a benefactor.   
  
"Chat Noir," Marinette breathed, looking up at Nino. He nodded. "How do we know we can trust him?"   
  
Nino snorted. "Money and loyalty, for two reasons. Chat Noir could have paid the publisher directly yet he chose to give you the money. It was a test of sorts. You passed, thus he continues to sponsor your work solely. Plus, we did not sell you ladies out for coins like your darling publisher." He shrugged. "In simple terms, we are your only chance of escaping alive."   
  
"You're a confident bastard," Alya grumbled.   
  
He grinned and stood to bow with an exaggerated hand flourish, his trademark for the two. Or, well, Alya mostly, Marinette thought smugly. He never searched for one last gaze at Marinette’s face when he was leaving.    
  
"Pleased to be of service. And now, ladies, we need to begin our escape."   
  
"Soldiers are stationed down the block," Ivan said from behind her. Marinette flinched in surprise. How had such a large man moved without her noticing? "Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, follow me."   
  
He helped her to her feet as Nino did the same for Alya. The two girls clutched at each other before they could be torn apart, and Alya stroked her hair.   
  
"We will be together soon. Be strong."    
  
Marinette nodded, swallowing back her sadness, and kissed her cheek. "Be careful."   
  
They separated, and Ivan instantly warned her that their journey would be short but risky with the guards everywhere. They moved through small alleys and hid behind carts at almost every turn. Once again Marinette wondered at the increase of security--surely this could not all be in response to Necker’s dismissal. Or did the king truly fear the power of the people, especially after one of their key allies had been pushed aside? Marinette was deep in thought, musing over the actions of the king, and finally looked up as they rounded upon a large estate. Instinct was to dive aside and hide since these were the rich, the people loyal to the king, but Ivan walked straight towards it.

It was impossible--why was Ivan taking her to a mansion? The rich supported the king and spit on people like her. But then again, how could Chat Noir afford to support their work? She supposed it was possible for one of the bourgeoisie to be sympathetic… but it still made her anxious.   
  
"Ivan," she hissed. "You are positive this is my safe house?"   
  
His lips pulled up into a surprising smile for the grim young man. "Positive, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng." He knocked on the back door, three rapid taps. It swung open to reveal a blonde, polished young man who locked onto her immediately. His burning, emerald eyes swept up and down her body, lingering at her eyes as she stared back. Whatever he was looking for must have satisfied him as he shifted to look at Ivan.   
  
"Any trouble?" he asked, shoulders slumping as he exhaled deeply.   
  
The two conversed as Marinette stared, eyes locked onto a face that was much too aged and thin. She remembered rosy skin and round cheeks, hair constantly brushed to the side by the delicate, loving fingers of his mother.   
  
"Adrien Agreste," she said. He stopped mid-sentence, and his wide eyes shifted to her. Marinette took a step forward and lifted her hands to cup his cheeks, thumbs tracing the dark circles under his eyes. "Have you been reading late again?"   
  
His cheeks puckered under her hands as he smiled. "Hello, Marinette."   
  
She mirrored his smile and moved her hands to his shoulders, bringing him to her. "Hello, Adrien."   
  
Adrien had barely moved his arms to hug her back before Ivan was pushing them through the doorway.

“Less hugs, more hiding. It was a pleasure to meet you Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. Stay safe.”

“Wait, I need to--”

Marinette turned with just enough time to catch his wink before he turned and hurried back down the alley. 

“...Thank you.” She sighed. Another reminder of how her life was changing too quickly for her to even manage a voice in it all. Alya was most likely itching to take control of their situation in any way she could. Marinette, however, had no idea what to do at this point--especially with a new twist thrown into the disaster.

“Marinette?” There was a tentative brush against her palm, but it hastily retreated. She looked back and caught his hand in hers just like they had done as children. There was no time for her to care about etiquette. All she could do was inhale, exhale, and tighten her hold on one of the only things holding her to reality.

Adrien was watching her, lips thin as they pressed together, so she gave him a lackluster smile. The best she could manage in that moment. “Where am I to stay?”

“Oh,” he breathed. “Of course. Right this way.”

He tugged her hand, leading her, and Marinette almost pulled her hand back out of instinct alone--she had been blindly following far too much today. Instead she let her body go numb and relax. If anything, she was truly in a safe place if Adrien was there to aid her. He pulled her through an empty kitchen, up a narrow staircase, and dropped her hand to open a ceiling hatch in a small hallway.

“I’ve made an escape through the attic,” he explained before dragging a bucket closer and using it as a stepping stool. His arm dangled down from the ceiling as he urged her to copy his actions. The bucket was stable but cheap from the looks of it, so Marinette stepped gingerly. Once they were both seated on the rather dusty but spacious floor, Adrien communicated by his hands to follow him. One more hatch removed and Marinette carefully lowered herself onto a gleaming, ivory dresser. 

“Heavens,” she breathed as she stepped down onto the marble floor. The room gleamed of ivory and gold and riches that her family could only dream about. Honey colored silk draped from the canopy over the bed, and drew Marinette closer. She gasped at the feel of it between her fingers, smoothing over every callus and scar.

“The dresses I could sew with this…” The fabric stitched itself in her mind as she dreamed, formings skirts and lines of perfect embroidery. A hand on her back brought her back to the room, and she looked over to see Adrien smiling at her. 

“It would be my pleasure to buy more,” he said. “For something to work on while you’re in hiding.”

Marinette had known the temptation of wishing for luxury all her life, but never had it been close enough for her to actually touch. Yet still, she would not ask more from her newly reunited friend.

“You were always offering to buy me gifts,” she giggled, and dropped the fabric so she could pat his cheek. “Still as kind as ever.”

Adrien closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, so she let her hand linger. As a noble she knew he was well-fed and well-protected… but she wondered if he was well-loved. The words said about his father had not always been positive.

“Anything for my little bug,” he muttered. Marinette flushed at the old nickname--it was so different coming from an older, mature Adrien. Instinct had her flinching away, but she regretted it as the warmth from his skin quickly seeped out of her fingers.

“Flattery does nothing, Adri,” she returned. Both nicknames had originated from his late mother, and that fact seemed to catch up with their situation all at once. Adrien’s face sagged under the sadness that consumed his disposition as he withdrew to sit over in the room’s parlour area. 

Marinette’s parents had not hidden the difficulty of their favorite customer’s sudden and violent illness from her as well as they had thought. They meant well with their secrets and whispers, but they had not been very effective. Madame Agreste had died after a painful bout of pneumonia, and young Marinette had wept for her friend and his mother who had not deserved such a death. If she had ever been subject to such a time of watching her parent die like that… Marinette could not even dream it.

"So… how do you know Chat Noir?" she tried for a subject change.   
  
That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Adrien curled over, covered his face with his hands, and released a long, tired sigh. Then he moved again, fingers massaging his forehead as he continued to stare forward.   
  
"I don't want to lie to you anymore, Marinette."   
  
She recalled the days after the funeral, how he had wandered into her district, unsure where the Dupain-Chengs were without his mother's guidance, just to clutch her hand and promise that he would still visit her. He had never come again, and she had expected as much with his father in charge.

“I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.” The footrest in front of his chair was small but plush, and she did her best to balance as she sat down. Their boundaries had broken the moment she hugged him and he clung back. Marinette felt no embarrassment as she took his hands in hers, drawing them away from his face where his skin reddened from the rubbing. “You’’ll wrinkle your pretty skin,” she joked.

Adrien stared at their hands, seeming too distracted to respond.

“Do you....” he cut off, his eyes flickering up her face for a moment before continuing, “The stuffed animal you made me… do you remember it?”

It had been her first attempt at a sewing project that wasn’t a dress. Marinette had spent weeks gathering feathers to stuff it, and even then the whole doll was barely as big as her head. It had been modeled after a cat, just like the ones that roamed around the bakery, and Adrien had mocked it for resembling a cow.

Marinette giggled at the memory. “Of course I do. You claimed it a cow rather than cat, and then dropped it in the soot. You looked close to tears as you apologized and I just teased you that you were just as unlucky… as a black cat.”

She had been flexing her fingers, watching their hands move together, but squeezed his hand in surprise as it hit her.

“You’re Chat Noir.”


	2. Chapter 2

Adrien must have been watching her because he met her gaze head on when she looked up. She wasn’t sure what emotions she was showing, but shock must have been one of them.

“But how did you know?” She didn’t dare break eye contact, watching his impassive expression. “ _ Did  _ you know I was Ladybug?”

He nodded, and moved his hands for the first time by taking back one. “You used to draw little cartoons in the dirt.” As he spoke he reached over to the table beside his chair, opening a compartment hidden in the side engravings. “I remembered the way you drew. Your style.” Adrien reached into it and brought out a dirty clump of cloth, setting it in her lap. She used her free hand to turn it over, suddenly recognizing it as a crudely sewn cat. “I knew right away when that first comic was published.”

Marinette slowly drew a finger across the cat’s head, staring at the large, childish stitches around its head. “I must say I’m surprised you remember so much.”

Adrien shrugged. “You were my first friend. Your bakery held many happy memories for me.”

Marinette smiled and studied his face again, searching for that child she had known. The past ten years must have been difficult. “I’m glad we could do that for you. Mama loved making new cookies for you to…” She gasped, and the footrest rattled as she lept up. “My parents. I need to know they’re all right.”

Adrien still held one of her hands, and he tried to pull her back down. His eyes were wide and the most expressive she had seen so far. Marinette thought he looked almost scared.

“You can’t leave, Marinette. The bakery will be watched. They’ll expect you to go home.”

“But they don’t know.” Marinette dropped to the floor to kneel at his feet, hoping to implore the side of him that loved his mother enough that his life was never the same after her death. “I need to speak to them. Please,” she begged.

Adrien looked close to tears and he glanced between her and the window, the sky outside darkening rapidly with the aid of the new moon. “I cannot guarantee your safety outside this room. I want you to be safe.”

“And I want my family to know the truth. You must value that wish?” 

He sighed and reached up to pat her head, smoothing down hairs that had escaped her updo. “I understand, and I won’t let you go alone. We’ll escape the same way we came in--the servants should be gone by now.”

“Thank you, Adrien.” Marinette reached for his hand and kissed his knuckles, as one would to the person who saved their life and was willing to risk their own.

“Should, uh, make our way--” he choked on his words and jumped up from his chair, startling Marinette to sit back on the foot rest. He paced behind the chair, back to her, and glanced at her for just enough time for her to glimpse the flush on his face.

Marinette laughed at his fluster and dusted off her dress as she stood. “Yes, let’s go while there’s enough darkness to hide.”

“Right. Splendid plan.” He shook his arms out and took a deep breath before facing her. “We best hope your luck follows us, little bug.”

“I think my luck ran out the moment my warrant went up,” she chuckled. “So we’ll simply wish for the best.”

Adrien laughed as he walked over to the ivory dresser, and then bowed before her. “Ladies first.”

Their second time sneaking through the attic was slower, and they heard voices in a room that had previously been silent. Yet the bucket had not moved, and the hallway was still deserted.

“I’m not incredibly familiar with the staff schedule, but their duties should be finished once dinner has been served,” Adrien whispered as they moved down the stairs into the kitchen. “Once we’re through the back door we should be fine. The alley leads right into the street.”

“Yes, I remember,” Marinette teased. “I arrived not too long ago.”

He looked back at her as they reached the door and scrunched up his face, sticking out his tongue. “Of course. My mistake for trying to help, mademoiselle.”

She giggled. “Apology accepted, monsieur.” 

Adrien shook his head, keeping eye contact as he opened the door and stepped aside to let her through. “You have not changed at all, Marinette.”

“I will take that as a compliment.” She stepped out into the alley and stretched for a moment, looking up at the stars.

“As you should.”

Adrien stepped out into the night and turned to close the door just as a gunshot split the air. She screamed and bent over, covering her head. 

“Halt!” a harsh voice shouted. “One more step and we will shoot again!”

Someone crouched next to her, and she flinched before getting a glimpse of his gleaming, blonde hair. 

“There shouldn’t be guards out here,” he whispered, the panic clear in his voice. “I’m so sorry, Marinette. I didn’t know...” He swallowed him words, voice firmer. “But I will keep you safe.”

The night was bleak, but she could still make out his eyes and how they sought her own, begging her forgiveness. It was not him who had the threat of execution--they both knew that. Her parents, though… now she would never have the chance to explain. They would be heartbroken and searching for answers until the end of their days. She should have trusted them more, should have shared more of her life. Those were her regrets, and Marinette promised herself she would have no more. This night would most likely be her last, and the least she could do was comfort an old friend who had done so much for her.

Marinette moved closer, but feared touching him would reveal more than they wanted to the guards. “It’s okay, Adrien. We’ll be okay,” she whispered as the faint shadows of two men came closer, outlined in what must have been a lantern they carried. 

“Come with us.”

Marinette bit her lip as a tight grip on her arm hauled her up from the ground, and refused to let up even as she stood.

“Excuse me, sir, but you should first recognize who you dare act violent towards.” Adrien’s voice was calm, but her heart ached at the coldness in it. She could only image the events that would cause such a tone to be so easily at his disposal.

“Recognize?” the man holding her snorted. She tried to keep her head down, feigning compliance, but callused fingers gripped her hair and pulled. The lantern was lifted, and both men gasped.

“Adrien Agreste,” the other man stammered. But the one holding Marinette smirked, and tightened his grip on her hair.

“And Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, or rather, the infamous Ladybug. What a curious combination.” The man flipped her around and took both arms behind her, twisting them so severely she cried out as they yanked at her joints. “Be gentle with the young master. Monsieur Agreste should be aware of this.”

“Wait, you would dare treat a lady--” Adrien interjected, trying to get between Marinette and her capturer. Her left arm twisted further, and she whimpered at the spike of pain.

“I’ll take no orders from you, traitor. Silence or I’ll pull her arm out of her socket.”

Marinette was staring up, blinking the moisture from her eyes, and thus did not see the exchange between the two. The man jerked her into motion moments later, right back through the door that had been both her freedom and demise.

They walked through the kitchen, a dining area, and out to a grand parlour that matched the ivory design of Adrien’s room. 

“Find Monsieur Agreste. I’ll keep the girl contained.” The man who had been guiding Adrien nodded and left the room. Her capturer dragged her over to the rug settled between two high-backed chairs, and forced her onto her knees. “Move and you’ll be put down.”

Marinette glared up at him, forcing all her fright and anger into a fierce stare. He met her gaze and spat at her. 

“Sir!” Adrien shouted, and moved forward. The cool barrel of a gun settled on her brow, and she sucked in a breath at the chill.

“You sit there. Your father will be down shortly.”

She watched his feet as Adrien stalked over to one of the chairs in front of her and sat down. His fingers were white as they gripped the arms.

Minutes later footsteps echoed down the hallway, but Marinette did not dare look up as Gabriel Agreste entered the room. 

“Adrien. What filth have you gotten mixed with now?” Her hand trembled as she recognized his voice--it was the same one Adrien had used on the guard earlier. Of course he had learned it from him, the father he had never had any good words to describe. Yet Adrien could never stop loving him, and she dreaded being put between that familial bond.

“I’ve done no such thing, father,” Adrien responded with a voice on par in coldness, but softer in tone.

“I doubt that.” Another figure entered her vision, and Gabriel Agreste settled onto the seat next to his son’s. “What was the situation you discovered, Monsieur Chevalier?” 

The guard behind her cleared his throat before speaking with a voice that spoke of a taming under authority. “We were stationed in the alley behind the kitchen. The back door opened, and two figures came out. We fired--”

“You shot at my son?” 

“We were, uh, unaware who he was. It was a warning shot to immobilize them until they could be taken into custody. Sir.”

“Deplorable work, I suppose. You would have wasted ammo if they chose to run.”

Even while at the Agreste’s mercy, Marinette couldn’t help but smile as the guard was taken down a notch at Gabriel Agreste’s cold command of the situation.

“This woman. Who is she?”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, sir. A warrant was put up for her arrest this afternoon for treason. She publishes under the name--”

“I know her crime. I have heard from the Captain of her stupidity the common hail as bravery.”

Marinette bit her lip against the words she wanted to speak. The man was insane with power and loyalty to the king. She knew their type and how insistent they were in their values. Arguing would hold no value in his presence… but how she longed to punch him for all he had done to Adrien.

“My question would be why my son is aiding a traitor.”

She grasped her dress in tight fistfuls as she struggled not to look up at Adrien. She settled for looking at his feet in her peripheral, but they did not move at the words.

“I did not know she was a traitor,” Adrien finally said. “She came to the door asking for food, so I gave her some. I was showing her out when the guards found us.”

Marinette closed her eyes at the lie, feeling the sting of his rejection run through her. Hadn’t he been defending her from the guards moments ago? Wasn’t his title supposed to protect her? It seemed that just the presence of his father turned him into a different man, a man who went back on promises to keep her safe.  

Even through her internal struggle, Gabriel Agreste’s cold voice jolted her from her thoughts, and its proximity caused her to look up. It was strange how nothing in his face was recognizable--almost none of his features had been passed on to Adrien. Being up against something so unfamiliar but infamous from stories was frightening in its own way--especially since he towered before her.

“Does my son tell the truth, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng?” He held her gaze as he addressed her. 

“You value my words over your own son, monsieur?” she asked, her anger fueling her bitter sarcasm. “You do realize I am at your mercy. I could lie however I wish.”

“I do realize, and I have reason. My son inherited my wife’s blind kindness, so I have a habit of doubting him when it comes to strays.” 

He crouched and took her chin in his hand. “And you… you remind me of my wife. Too worried about justice and too clever for your own good. Why would you come to the house of a noble while on the run?”

Gabriel Agreste had claimed her too clever, but his own intelligence was one to be feared. What could she possibly say to convince him that she had no connection to Adrien? Why would she be at the house of a noble? Why? Her mind swam with possibilities, yet she must have been too slow for his liking. He moved back, a look of exasperation upon his features, as if it was a burden that she sat before him.

“Do you still claim ignorance, Adrien?”

Adrien refused to meet her gaze, and stared at his clasped hands. Her eyes stung, and she wished with everything that he would just look at her. Acknowledge that she was there before him, at his family’s mercy. Hadn’t he said he wanted to see her safe?

“Well, I do believe that settles it.”

A new voice, feminine, broke the silence, and she watched as Adrien’s eye widened. A hand smoothed its ways across the back of his chair, and a pretty blonde came into view. The young woman leaned down and kissed his golden hair.

“My fiance’s kindness was simply taken advantage of by this tramp. It is no secret that Adrien Agreste does not have the command of his father.”

They had not shared their past ten years with each other, but she hoped he would mention something so important. Something so intimate.

“A pleasure as always, Mademoiselle Bourgeois,” Adrien bit out, fingers once again clenching the arms of his chair.

Bourgeois. Marinette had heard the surname before. If the woman truly belonged to that family, then she was the daughter of the richest arms dealer in the country.

“Hello, darling.” She smoothed his hair over, although touching him clearly made Adrien uncomfortable. “I would recommend locking her up so we can continue our peaceful night, Monsieur Agreste.” She locked eyes with Marinette for the first time. Mademoiselle Bourgeois’s eyes were beautiful but made of ice. “Then you can dispose of her in the morning.”

Marinette mostly definitely hated this women. “I would like to see you try,” she snarled.

“My, such a temper on this one.” Gabriel Agreste had been silent, watching the exchange, but now it seemed to bore him. “As spirited as you are, I do not believe you can compete against guns.”

Mademoiselle Bourgeois giggled at the jab, and Marinette wished she could slap her.

“Monsieur Chevalier, escort the lucky Ladybug to the servant’s quarters and lock her in.”

“With pleasure.”

Marinette’s arms were once again jerked behind her, but now she was almost numbed to the pain. Her life, what was happening in this moment, did not seem real. Adrien still sat in his chair, refusing to look her way as his fiancee watched gleefully. Maybe grief was enough to change a person beyond recognition--the Adrien she knew may have never truly been there. Gabriel Agreste, already engaged in another conversation as if she had never been there, was her last view of the room.

Time seemed to rush together, rooms and walls and doors all blending into one blur of a memory. One last door opened, and she was dumped into a room. There was a bed, the one light in her disaster of a life, and Marinette collapsed on it immediately. Exhaustion and depression overtook her like a storm cloud. 

There was nothing in her life she had control over. The revolution had preached to the people over and over that they had a choice in how they lived, and  _ Common Sense  _ had been no different. She and Alya had believed it with all their soul, yet now what did she have to support it? A content life turned upside down in one evening; it was clear that fate had only tragedy in her future.

Curling until her legs pressed into her chest, Marinette could do nothing else but cry herself to sleep.

When she awoke the next morning, it was far too easy to recall the day before and how quickly her life had spiraled.

Marinette supposed that death should be easy when one had nothing to live for. There had been no word from Alya or Nino, her parents would be devastated, and Adrien had done nothing to defend her when she needed him most. In those ways she had nothing. Even so… she wanted to see more of life. Her life. There were dresses she wanted to make, people she wanted to love, and a revolution she wanted to support. Dying wasn’t easy at all, and Marinette had one night to come to terms with it. The one mercy she had was the quiet of her prison and the bed to sleep on. Marinette curled into herself, bringing the blanket with her, and traced the lines on her hand.

Eventually, that quiet ceased when a whisper swept through her room, echoing off of the walls. She dragged the blanket over her shoulders and stared at the wall. Had there been others who were kept here to die? Were they haunting her now?

“Marinette,” the voice breathed, and she shivered. “Marinette, speak to me.”

The door rattled and she shrieked, tugging the blanket over her head. The voice was louder now, more panicked, and the door continued to shake. Words were muffled over the sound, and she could barely make out what they were.

“Please, it’s Adrien! Answer me!”

Marinette’s hands fisted as she thought of his face, of how he had barely reacted at all to the assault and unfair trial. Apathy did not suit him like his father. She swept the blanket off her shoulders and stood to face the door. The rocking quieted, and she wondered if he had left. A quiet knock answered that.

“Leave me alone, Monsieur Agreste,” she bit out. “Your father must need you.”

Adrien let out some kind of noise similar to a gasp or snort. It was hard to decipher through the barrier. “Let me explain. I had to--”

“Oh, you  _ had  _ to!” she exclaimed with a short, cold chuckle. “You had to  _ betray  _ me?”

“It was not like that at all!”

“I disagree. You could have done something, Adrien. You’ve really fallen so far under your father’s influence?”

“No!” he shouted, and the door quaked. Then softer, “No, I will never be like him.”

“Your lack of action during my ‘trial’ says otherwise.”

“I couldn’t risk getting locked up as well. I’m your only chance. This mess is my fault-- mine to make right.” 

A soft thump against the door, and his voice came even closer as if his lips were pressed to the wood. He was right there. If it was possible, she could reach through the door and touch him.

“I’m sorry, Marinette. I just wanted you to be safe… and happy.”

Marinette sighed and closed her eyes. It still hurt her, ached in her very soul how Adrien had stood by and watched, but… she understood. And she knew Adrien. Even though this Adrien was a pale, broken vision to the one she knew from her childhood, it was still him. After everything, after all she had said to him, all he wanted was to help others. She leaned forward until her forehead rested on the door.

“I can trust you?” she whispered.

“You can trust me.”

She unclenched her hands, sore from her bout of anger, and rested one against the door, imagining the rough grain as the smooth skin of his cheek.

“Your father will be angry.”

There was a long pause before his answer. “He will. But I’m not scared of what he would do to me. I’m scared of what he  _ will  _ do to you.”

Her chest tightened in fright as she thought of being handed over to the king. “Get me out of here, Adrien.”

“As you wish. Back away from the door, please.”

Did he really expect to break through a wooden door? Marinette wanted to warn him that maybe his plan was not the smartest one but who was she to question her rescuer? She moved aside and called out that she was ready. A grunt and the door flew in, knocking loudly into the wall behind it. Adrien flopped in the doorway, off balance from whatever he had done. She gaped at him.

“Did you just kick the door in?”

His eyes were wide and especially green against the wood of the floor, and they were crinkled in a smile. “That was quite fun.”

She laughed and grabbed his arm to haul him off of the floor. “And most likely heard by my guards. We should probably hurry.”

Their hands came together naturally, and Adrien took the lead as he tugged her through the unfamiliar hallways--she barely remembered coming up here because of her shock.

“There’s a riot happening in front of the mansion--everywhere in the city, actually. I think this is our best chance at escaping.”

“A riot?” Marinette exclaimed. “For what?”

He grinned at her, and it was truly the happiest he had looked since their reunion. “For revolution.”

All she could manage was an astonished laugh. She and Alya had been hoping and wishing for this to happen for close to a year, and now it was finally coming true. There had been no word on Alya’s state, but she just knew her best friend was alive and well and would be waiting. Marinette practically skipped as they headed straight for the front door, void of guards most likely because of the chaos outside. Adrien’s hand had just touched the doorknob when there was a scream from above. They turned as one to face Mademoiselle Bourgeois, gripping the banister a level above, with a terrible, angry scowl contorting her once beautiful features.

“Adrien Agreste! You are making a dire mistake. Do not betray your country for that tramp!” she viciously spat in Marinette’s direction, her hair flying.

“You’re wrong,” Adrien said, his voice hard but impassioned--so unlike his usual angry demeanor. “I would like to see you believe in anything enough to risk your whole life. It might give you some character.”

“Some character?” she gasped. “How dare you--”

“Go shout at your reflection, Chloe. I am done.”

He had already turned, whipping the door open, but Marinette had time to glimpse Mademoiselle Bourgeois giving them an enraged glare before turning towards the staircase. There was no time to worry about her following them, however. The minute they passed the Agreste grounds, the crowd was upon them.

It was the people against the city guards. Crates and produce were being thrown as weapons, and she glimpsed others running through the crowds with their arms filled with loot. It was pure chaos of shouting and running and even through all of it Marinette felt alive with excitement and glee at what this meant for their country. Until a gunshot managed to break through the noise, and Adrien pulled her down under him for cover.

“We’ll use the crowds for cover, but we need to get out of here,” he yelled in her ear. She wrapped her arm around his middle and nodded, the two of them keeping close as they tried to make a path through jostling limbs.

There was still something off about it all, though. Something she was missing. It was in the noise, the shouts surrounding them, and it called to them specifically. Marinette looked back, swearing she heard Adrien’s name, and caught icy eyes locked on them through a struggle between a guard and two men.

Adrien seemed oblivious to their stalker, so she tugged on the shirt in her grasp. “Adrien. Adrien we need to run!”

“What?” He stopped to lean down towards her, and asked her to repeat. On her tip toes, her lips practically touched his ear. 

“We need to r--!”

Marinette broke off as another shot rang out, so close it chilled her very bones. When she turned, Chloe Bourgeois stood only feet behind them clenching her hand and staring at a gun at her feet. The barrel smoked--she had already taken a shot. Just as Marinette looked down to search her dress for blood, Adrien collapsed in her arms.

She screamed. “Adrien!” 

As a dead weight he was too heavy, and Marinette’s back bent painfully as she struggled to keep them upright. Before they could be completely flattened in the crowd, she mustered all her fear and anger and lingering excitement into her arms. The little surge of energy gave her enough strength to drag him out of the crowd. There were small alleys everywhere, and they were far less crowded than the streets.

Marinette shifted so that she could sit against a wall and cradle Adrien’s head on her lap while his body was belly down against the stones. The wound was clear against his light brown vest, oozing from the middle of his back. It didn’t seem to be bleeding profusely, yet still Adrien did not get up.

Words did not seem enough. What could she say? How could she comfort a wounded friend? She stroked his cheek and pet his hair even though her hands quivered. Weak exhales brushed against her hand when it passed his mouth, and that little comfort brought tears to her eyes.

How could she apologize for such tragedy? The shot had undeniably been for her, yet Adrien had taken it without even being aware he was in such danger. 

So Marinette settled for simple. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and bent to kiss his forehead. He groaned at the touch, and her heart leapt at the sign of life. “Adrien? Can you--”

There was a scream from the streets, and then Mademoiselle Bourgeois flew into the alley. She collapsed next to them, her hands clutching her face, fingers digging into her cheekbones. “Forgive me, please,” she cried, her voice rough. “It was a mistake. It should have been her!”

Marinette had no spirit to argue against that--especially because it was true. Adrien was just the victim. A young man caught in her mess, and now he had a lost future if his wound proved fatal.

The cries must have been enough to completely wake him, and his eyes opened with what looked like great pain. His voice was weak, but it still managed to reach them as they seemed to belong in their own world in that moment, stricken with grief. “Help…help up. Can’t move.”

“Anything you want, Adrien,” Marinette soothed, stroking his cheek as it dampened from his tears. His fingers twitched, barely holding on to her dress.

Mademoiselle Bourgeois was still sobbing and shaking as she stared at his back, fixated on the blood. It looked like she was frozen with shock, and Marinette struggled to force her out of that state. 

“Chloe. Chloe!” she finally shouted. The woman flinched, her hands lowering from her face, and Marinette took that as a signal to keep talking. “If you still care for Adrien then you will help me get him to a doctor. Support his left side and I will his right.” Mademoiselle Bourgeois shook her head, a small gesture that seemed more instinct than anything, and Marinette grew angrier. “Do this  _ now  _ or forever know you had a chance to help the man you shot but were too scared to lift a finger.  _ Move _ .”

That seemed to finally get through to her, and Mademoiselle Bourgeois moved forward, meeting her gaze fearfully. “Will he be okay?” she choked out.

There was no use in answering--it all depended on how quickly they got him medical attention and where the bullet had hit. Marinette tried to be gentle as she turned Adrien over in her arms, and he clenched his jaw. His eyes were closed and his fingers kept clenching and relaxing, over and over. She figured it was some method to help ease the pain.

“We’re going to move you, Adrien. Find you a doctor,” Marinette murmured in his ear and kissed his brow. “Just hold on.”

Pushing him into a seated position, she ducked under his arm so he could lean on her. Mademoiselle Bourgeois copied her on his left. They locked eyes, and Marinette nodded so that they lifted him in unision.

He cried out instantly at the movement, and his legs must have been too weak to walk. They dragged behind him, and the girls struggled to walk on the uneven cobblestones.

“Stop!” Adrien bit out, groaning in pain. “I can’t--”

They lowered him back down and he gasped, his chest heaving as if the air was choking him. “I can’t stand,” he moaned, turning his head into Marinette’s hair. The heaving turned into sobs, his breath hot against the crown of her hair. “My legs… they’re numb.”

Mademoiselle Bourgeois collapsed, arm falling from his side as she started crying once more. 

“Numb?” Marinette whispered, horror washing through her very being. If he could not feel his legs, then that must mean… No. It couldn’t be. She curled her hands around her chest and lifted him once more. A doctor would know what to do, how to fix this. It couldn’t be permanent. Not him.

Marinette moved in broken strides, exhaustion and building tears slowing her down. Miracles could happen. There had to be some reason she had been named for luck. Maybe it was for this moment, to help her friend, her helpless Chat Noir. She would take all of his bad luck in exchange. Anything.

She let out her first sob, and fingers stroked the back of her hands.

“Marinette, please,” Adrien said, voice strained. “Stop. You cannot carry me through the city.”

Her arms wanted to collapse, but she focused on letting him down gently, resting his head on her lap once more. “Then I’ll go for a doctor,” she said, wiping her cheeks. “I will make him heal you.”

His hand lifted, taking a loose strand of her hair between two fingers. His green eyes, red from crying, stared at it. “It would take a god to heal me, I’m afraid.”

She shook her head, sobbing, and curled around him to rest her forehead against his.

It was just like earlier for Marinette, this out of body feeling that this life wasn’t real because it couldn’t be. It had taken one day to change her life forever. But the young man, sobbing in her arms, was real and alive at the cost of his legs. Perhaps she and Alya had been wrong. They had wanted revolution, but forgotten the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bastille AU created by miraculousandcute of Tumblr & trinity-nevermore of Tumblr.
> 
> Written by miraculousandcute of Tumblr.
> 
> http://miraculousandcute.tumblr.com  
> http://trinity-nevermore.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Bastille AU created by miraculousandcute of Tumblr & trinity-nevermore of Tumblr.
> 
> http://miraculousandcute.tumblr.com  
> http://trinity-nevermore.tumblr.com


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